


This isn't Goodbye

by crtkelly_writes



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-02-09 09:15:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18635203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crtkelly_writes/pseuds/crtkelly_writes
Summary: When the horns blew thrice, there suddenly had been no time to talk, let alone for a proper farewell. Instead they began hastily donning their clothing, ignoring each other as they prepared mentally for what was to come...which would entail first separating to leave for their assigned positions and then, if they were so favored would be surviving the hell they were about to face.Will three words spoken before the battle for the dawn make all the difference...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Post Season 8 episode 2 events and whatever it takes to make me happy, after the show has irritated me with how they have handled Arya and Gendry...

When the horns blew thrice, there suddenly had been no time to talk, let alone for a proper farewell. Instead they began hastily donning their clothing, ignoring each other as they prepared mentally for what was to come...which would entail first separating to leave for their assigned positions and then, if they were so favored would be surviving the hell they were about to face. 

She would be high upon the parapets and he in the lower keep, that was once he had retrieved his weapon of choice from the forge. Dressing as quickly as he could, Gendry lamented his slumber, precious time wasted that could have spent with her: holding each other, talking, even loving again - whatever it was she would have wanted of him. But it had not panned out that way, and now they were moments away from what he prayed would not be a permanent separation. Hers proved quicker than his sleep-addled motions, but only when it appeared that she would actually leave without uttering a single word, did he call out to her.

"Arya..."  
Her back stiffened, but she stopped, for which he was eternally grateful. Still she remained silent, and in that moment a fear greater than the approaching army of the dead hit him. Would it be cold indifference that he would see in her face, or worst yet absolute regret for the passion they had shared when she finally faced him...if she faced him at all? He couldn't be sure, and that more than anything scared the shit out of him. To learn that an act that he could openly admit meant so much to him may not have held the same weight with her would break him. She had changed so much in their years apart: definitely for the better, but also in a way that revealed this older Arya as being far removed from the young girl he had known years ago. And this girl: this woman he could not help but think would consider their encounter as nothing but sex. But he had been certain, at least while they shared their bodies with one another tonight it hadn't been just been her maidenhead that he had been gifted, but Arya Stark in her purest form, and there had been a connection. Perhaps not exactly love, but dammit something not far from it. Even the stupid bull she referred to him as was not that dumb. Gendry opened his mouth, to say what he did not know, but just then...finally she raised her eyes to him and spoke before he could.

"This isn't Goodbye," she stated stoically, the harshness of her voice belied by the unexpected sheen of moisture he saw in her eyes: tears the fierce young woman was assuredly attempting to hold at bay .

Gendry nodded, recognizing the precipice Arya teetered on for what it was as she fought for control of her emotions for what lay ahead of them. It was exactly the same for him, you see. He swallowed hard and nodded once more in agreement, before repeating her words back to her adding the one thing he trusted to convey all that needed to be said.

"This isn't Goodbye, My Lady," he rasped.

Her slight head nod told him that it was all that needed to be said and enough of a promise to each other to allow them to part.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end has come as quickly as it arrived, and Gendry begins his search...

~GENDRY~

And just like that it ended.

Fighting for his very survival he had no clue how or why he noticed the silence that suddenly fell when the ice-dragon's unnatural screeches ceased. But they had, and in a move that he was certain would mean his death, Gendry had turned and watched with shock as the beast fell. The killing blow he expected did not come, when the dragon's collapse set off a domino effect, and a second later the swarm of dead that had pressed upon him from all sides followed suit, crumpling at his feet, as had the dozen or so surrounding Tormund who had fought next to him. The wildling had actually gone down with his attackers and instinctively Gendry had turned to defend the man; a move which proved unnecessary. None of the Night King's minions had taken advantage of the red-haired man's prone position. None moved at all: neither around him or anywhere, it seemed in all of Winterfell. They just fell.

The bewildered expression on his face was mirrored in Tormund's as the wilding scrambled to his feet, fully expecting the dead to resist his action and attempt to kill him. Neither had that happen and the howl of victory that erupted from the man's mouth finally clued the blacksmith to what was going on. Somehow, impossibly they had won...the Night King and his dead army had been defeated.

Stunned still, Gendry suffered the wildling's crushing bear-hug. The living had prevailed. They had fought death...and by the mercy of the gods they lived. He was alive...at least he thought he was. He would accept it as fact only after he found her alive and safe, since any alternative would not be life at all.

He turned and immediately headed with purpose for the last place he had spied her.

******  
Death...

Barring the few survivors who passed him as they left what remained of the battlements, there was only death to be found here. The Hound had been one of living Gendry realized when the scarred man barreled past him, still in battle mode, as he rushed for some unknown destination at top speed, ignoring Gendry's shouts. If Clegane was here then perhaps he would have protected Arya. But he had no chance of ever finding out, as the man was out of sight and Gendry, feeling he could lose what might be precious time locating her, carried on his search.

Minutes later, the hammer that had kept him alive dropped from his suddenly lax grip, when continuing his trek through the battlements where she would have been defending her home, he spied Arya's discarded weapon; the one she had demanded of him; the one he hoped would aid her survival. His heart sputtered in his chest as he reached underneath the strewn bodies the dragon tipped weapon protruded from, praying all the while that he would not encounter Arya's lifeless body there. He did not, but rather than relief, an overwhelming sense of loss came over him when he realized that the staff had shattered. If she was no more, it was because he had failed her. His eyes began burning and everything in front of him blurred.

"Grieve not Gendry of House Baratheon, you had a part to play in all of this, as did she..."

The one voice that he never wished to hear again reached his ears to taunt him. This wasn't life after all...he had perished and entered the deepest hell, for only there would the Red Witch be alive and Arya... He gasped for air when his throat abruptly constricted at the real possibility of her being gone... Arya...Arya... his mind screamed.

"Had I not taken you from her, she would not have fulfilled the Lord of Light's path for her and done was required of her to bring about an end to the long night...Arya Stark..."

Gendry shot up to his feet and gripped the witch by her throat when she dared to speak her name. Arya's weapon was not so shattered that it did not have a least one more kill in it, not that his hands were incapable should somehow the evil woman thwart his intention.  
"What sort of God would demand her death," he roared. Melisandre's calmness took him aback and her subsequent smile only increased his ire and he raised the dragon glass tip to her chest. "Do you have any idea..."

"Your goodbye was never meant to come this night Gendry Baratheon; Your Lady would not allow it, if it was in her power to prevent it. However I expect you will not believe me until you see with your own eyes. Go to where this was meant to end and find the truth you seek."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In order to bring the Night King down, Arya had had to first go up. However what goes up inevitably has to come down....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now don't get me wrong, I love Arya for everything she did in Season 8 Episode 3, but a few things bothered me. First was how she was able to get to the Godswood in the first place in light of the World War Z scenario taking place in her home. In my search for some logic, I read a particular online theory, and even with its plot holes, it made the most sense in the world. Therefore I'm going with it. 
> 
> Secondly, and this is just my opinion, for her to come away from the encounter with the Night King who hasbeen built up as an omnipotent entity totally unscathed seemed so unbelievable, so for the record she will not...

~ARYA~

In order to bring the Night King down, Arya had had to first go up.

Scaling Winterfell's walls had been the only viable option: the roof, the one route that offered the best prospect of reaching the godswood without facing down the horde of dead that overran her home. Her recent encounters had taught her that against them she would stand little chance reaching the Godswood at ground level, especially with their numbers increasing many-fold right before her eyes. More dead blue eyes: allies, friends... perhaps even kin who now fought for the enemy. She briefly lost her footing on a snow covered gable when unwittingly memories of a specific set of blue eyes; brilliantly blue ones she had been lost in not so long ago, flashed in her head. Regaining her foothold, she scampered unseen across the tiled rooftop forcing herself not to dwell on who exactly may have joined the ranks of the undead wreaking havoc below. Only reaching her destination mattered now. Whether Jon or Bran or Sansa...whether Gendry had survived to this point would mean little if someone did not destroy the leader of the Dead Army and stop mankind's inevitable annihilation .

There had only been the dragon between her and the one and only chance she would have. She would either be successful or not: no in-betweens. It would take a flying leap and more to reach the evil being approaching her younger brother where he had waited out the night. One chance to, at the very least, attempt what she had been chosen to do; something that so many had and were dying to secure her one attempt. She would have to do this now or perish trying, she thought as she began her final sprint with the out-of-nowhere encouragement she needed at her back..."Go.....go.....go!"

*****  
*****  
*****

It was done, but at what cost, she wondered.

Despite landing on her feet after stabbing the Night King, Arya soon comprehended that all was not well with her. Perhaps it was simply the disorientating stillness that had come when the dead had followed their leader to either disentigrate or collapse where they stood that had brought to focus the injuries she had suffered, but when she looked at Bran and noticed the crack in his usual unreadable persona, she suspected there maybe more to it... 

She had been touched by Death itself, and she feared by what she saw in her younger brother's eyes there would be no escaping it.

Gendry had been right all along she thought as a coldness beyond anything she had felt before permeated her body.

********

"Bran!!!! Arya!!!

The unaturally cold valerian steel dagger slipped from Arya's hand when Jon's voice reverberated from a distance in her ears. Her cracked lips turned up to form a small smile and she let go, collapsing to her knees before keeling slowly to one side. Before the frozen ground could rise to meet her, he reached. The sudden warmth of her brother's embrace proved the succor she needed and instead of heading directly into the darkness beckoning her, Arya open her eyes. "Arya..." "I heard you, Jon, as I ran past the dragon, I heard you," she croaked in opposition to what felt like icy shards that had filled her throat. "I knew for sure then," she continued before her eyes focused on the commotion caused by the lumbering giant of a man hurrying towards them. No blue eyes: good, she thought deliriously when the Hound suddenly came face-to-face with her. She may have verbalized her thoughts, or not; it was hard to tell as she warred with consciousness, but she was glad all the same. Still, she thought as a lone tear escaped her eyes and froze on her cheek, it would have been good to see her blacksmith once more before it was all over. 

Death was colder than she ever imagined she thought as she wished herself back to the forge one last time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He sensed in her what he hated the most: life. A life forged by fire... the quenching...the tempering...the quickening. He hated her most for the song he knew she had sung when the hammer brought forth life...and he wanted it: that which was forever denied him extinguished...snuffed out by an icy death. There is here only one who can help her now. The Smith. Hand her over to her smith while there is still time.""

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When the Bringer of the Dawn needs a hero of her own to bring her back...

~GENDRY~

"No, no! Don't you fucking dare submit, you little wolf-bitch! Fight dammit fight!"

Happening upon a scene where a brute would dare grab a lady high from the embrace of her kin, from his own liege lord even, manhandling her in the process immediately gave rise to notion that the true tragedy of the battle had yet to play out . Their ill fate had, Gendry surmised, merely awaited his arrival so it could reveal to everyone who cared for her the full depth of what they were about to lose. Jon, Lady Sansa, even the Hound surrounded a fallen Arya who appeared as if she may draw her last breath before their very eyes here in the dawn light filtering through the Godswood. Anguished by what was unfolding right in front of him, pain beyond anything he had ever experienced swelled inside Gendry; escaping in the form of the mournful groan he could not contain even if he tried. 

He nor it went unnoticed.

"Leave her Clegane. He has come. "

Turning around to see no one of consequence in the growing gathering: no maester, no healer, the tormented warrior who desperately held the petite northern girl in his arms as if she was his own, unleashed his own despair, "He who you dumb fuck? Fuck off with your cryptic shite! Just tell us what to do for her!"

"Bran what is wrong with her ? What did the Knight King do to Arya," a panicked Sansa shrieked as she watched her sister succumbing .

"He sensed in her what he hated the most: life. A life forged by fire... the quenching...the tempering...the quickening.. He hated her most for the song he knew she had sung when the hammer brought forth life...and he wanted it: that which was forever denied him extinguished...snuffed out by an icy death. There is here only one who can help her now. The Smith. Hand her over to her smith while there is still time."

The fact that he knew absolutely nothing about healing did not stop him from stepping forward upon hearing the words spoken by the youngest of the Starks. Rumors abound that the he had become a seer of sorts, and that his words held power. And if he believed, then so would Gendry.

"I will do whatever I can; whatever I must," Gendry insisted as he approached the hound. "At least let me take her where she can be warm."

"You dumb cunt; that's no fucking plan," Sandor Clegane growled. "Anyone...."

 

"Enough," Jon cut in, emerging from his shock to finally take control of the situation." Sansa go and make sure that a fire burns in Arya's chamber. Someone, anyone: if the maester has survived locate him or Samwell at the very least and bring them there as quickly as possible."

He stared once at Gendry unclear as to why he would be the key to Arya's survival, and then nodded to the smith who had unflinchingly stepped up to the task asked of him.

*********

Gendry began unfastening his doublet.

"Leave us."

The middle-aged servant pursed her lips at the demand made of her. Her head rose in defiance at the untoward suggestion to leave Lady Arya alone with this low-born man, who she saw in his eyes far too much. "Nay, I will not."

Gendry frowned. "Did Lord Jon not demand you to abide by any instruction..."

"Aye he did, but I doubt that would include leaving his young sister all alone with some Southern stranger with Gods-knows what on his mind," the woman spat out harshly.

Ignoring the clear aspersion to his character, a flushed Gendry stood to his full height to tower over the untrusting Northerner. "A chaste corpse is still a corpse, and if you are willing to risk that...are you willing to risk your lady and all the ramifications of denying my request?"

His words were enough of threat to send the woman fleeing, no doubt to seek out Arya's kin with her complaint. Gendry hastened to the door behind the woman, latching it from the inside. He began disrobing even before he turned back to face the slight girl in the bed. He could think of no other alternative. With nothing else working fast enough; he would do anything and everything not to lose Arya today.

After he had stripped down, he grabbed the furs and covers that covered Arya and fashioned a makeshift bedroll as close to the fireplace hearth as possible. Upon noticing that the removal of her blanketing did not garner a single response, his heart sped up rapidly, as did his fear for Arya. 

"You made me a promise 'Arry: No goodbye," he whispered as he gathered her icy form and lay with her between the warmth of the coverings.  
Her body had seemed to have given up the fight, but he would be damned if he would let her go.

"You can't leave me Arya; not now."

*********

Jon refused to look at Sansa when the knocks and then the pounding on Arya's door went unanswered. 

"Why would he have locked the door, Jon," Sansa demanded her distrust of men in particular heightened by the tension of their sister's condition and the tale the maid had come to her with. The Lady of Winterfell glanced over to one of the few males she knew was reliable, whom she had asked to accompany her to her sister's side. The silent plea in her eyes was answered immediately.

Sandor snarled, and pushed Jon aside and immediately put his shoulder to the barrier. The cunt-lord had been a fool to place the little wolf's fate in the hands of the smith who had been sniffing after the little bitch ever since they had arrived in the North. Three hits was all it took until the door gave way, and the group made their way into the room.  
**********

"Gendry, wake up. The maester has come. You can... you have to let her go."

It was a deeper Northern voice: Jon's this time that accompanied the tug that threatened to pull Arya away from him. However even in that moment: when he hovered between being sleep and awareness, Gendry again refused to relent and handover his charge just as he had when it was the Lady of Winterfell who had first demanded it of him.

"Gendry Lad!"

Ser Davos too, Gendry thought. Had everyone come, the blacksmith wondered as he slowly blinked awake. But he still remained where he was, cognizant that nothing was more important save the task that had been entrusted to him. Gods knew how many minutes or hours it had been. His arms automatically drew Arya against his body, where gratefully her body temperature, he noticed remained constant. Her breathing, although still shallow, did not seem as labored and he sighed.

"We need to get Lady Arya back to bed, son."

"I've just managed to warm her up," he responded groggily.

"Aye, Lad that you have done, Ser Davos gently cajoled the young man who had unexpectedly been charged with the greatest of responsibilities by the Stark family. "She looks to have some colour to her cheeks now, but the cold may not be all that ails Lady Arya. She needs to be examined for other injuries."

At last; words meaningful enough to sink in gave Gendry the will to give up the petite female he had held close to him in every way. His, as did everyone else's head lowered when Arya, in only her small clothes, stirred slightly, almost in protest when she was removed from where she lay pressed up against the very naked chest of the brawny blacksmith, exposed when the fur covering the two was dislodged. Despite his jaw tightening at the sight, not at all helped when Sansa's accusing glance went from the Smith to him, Jon spoke out in the effort not to bring any further discord to an already fraught situation. "He did what was best under the circumstances," he uttered nullifying the complaint he saw in the Lady of Winterfell's eyes. "Propriety be damned if it saves her," he added. As if to give weight to his statement, at that precise moment a flicker of eyelids accompanied a hoarse whisper emerged from the only person who truly mattered in the room. "Gendry..."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When silence.. and a familiar greeting, speaks volumes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this feels like a filler chapter, but I am happy with it as, unlike the show, I need a vulnerable Arya coming to grips with life. I hope you like it.

~ARYA~

With the same unflappable demeanor that she exhibited on a daily basis, Sansa, the Lady of Winterfell read the latest missive addressed to her, and then threw it into the lit fireplace. That had been expected: it probably had been the worst one yet, but it still irked Arya that it did not warrant a reaction. Oh, it was bad enough that Sans wouldn't wish for anyone else to be privy to the note's contents, but not enough to garner anything other than the pensive expression she seem to wear all the time. Again Sansa chose to ignore her request, which, considering all they had been through, was not unreasonable. She truly hated the icy bitch her sister had become; unyielding and callous over any situation or person she perceived as unbecoming of the Stark family... the latter being the category she had arbitrarily placed Gendry in. 

"Sans...aaargh fuc..." Arya eyes smarted when the excrutiating pain struck and the subsequent coughing fit it brought on, when she attempted to speak. 

Immediately, Sansa attended her sibling, reaching Arya's bedside faster than her normal measured pace would have taken her, and propping her sister up to help alleviate the coughing spell that had overtaken the younger woman. She held a linen square to Arya's mouth, and then replaced it with a glass of water to her lips. After she had set the cup back on the side-table, she took the time the examine the condition of the cloth.

"Blood; slightly less, but blood all the same Arya. You are still hemorrhaging, and you cannot deny that the coughing is not adding to the pain in your ribs, Arya. I love you sister, but I will do whatever to prevent you from harming yourself further: physically...or otherwise. You need to rest. Our people..." She stopped Arya when she would have picked the quill at her bedside. "I know, Arya. You think you should be amongst our people, and normally I would agree. But your injuries...Arya, I was so scared that we would lose you. Whatever it was that was done to you, it was...was unnaturral, and I won't risk your health unnecessarily." She frowned when Arya insisted on writing now. Apprehensively she looked down to read. Dealing with her headstrong sister had been challenging, and frankly exhausting these past two days. She prayed that Arya would not persist with her demands. It was true that the blacksmith had played some role in helping her, but this pull she had to this unsuitable man was just that: unsuitable, and that's all there was to it

'Burial'

A reprieve then, Sansa thought, when she saw what Arya had written wasn't another expletive laced demand to see the smith, that she would have to dissuade. That insistence had been a bane to say the least. This, at least, she could handle. "We've gathered our dead and the pyres are being finished as we speak. Tomorrow we will bid goodbye to those who fell..." Sansa choked suddenly and she looked at her sister with tears in her eyes. Arya reached for and hugged Sansa as best she could with her injuries. No words were needed between them, and Sansa allowed her defenses to drop for a minute, as she mourned the personal loss she had had to put aside as she attended her duties as the Lady of this great house. Tomorrow would be harrowing, she knew, yet she would have to perservere, for both herself and for her people. But for now, she could afford to break down... for a minute or two at least. 

"I want you there, Arya," she announced when she had pulled herself together. " I expect there are those you wish to bid a final farewell to. Provided," she continued when her sister perked up, " there are no more attempts to leave your room between now and then, and that you allow Sandor to attend you for the duration, I really believe that it will do our people good to see you, their heroine, in their midst. However, unless you agree..."

Sansa smiled when her sister placed one hand over her heart and nodded. "Now I trust you will really rest now, and stop giving those watching over you further grief. And going forward conduct yourself in a manner befitting our family, Arya...please."

**********

The next day, when she left her room to make her way down to the where the pyres had been constructed, Arya was actually glad for the Hound's proximity. Not so much due to her weakness, which probably wasn't as obvious as it felt to her, but mainly because of the disconcerting level of adoration being directed her way. It was extremely uncomfortable: the way they all whispered, and genuflected, they way they consistently tried to touch her, as if she was some talisman for them all.

"Fucking cunts, as if we all didn't fight for our lives," the hound grumbled. "I hope you don't plan on fainting," he muttered as they approached the land where the final homage to their dead would happen. "I, for one, won't be carrying your Night-King killing arse back to your room: Lady Dawn-bringer." He looked down and smirked, when the little bitch actually rolled her eyes. " Come on girl, a few more feet to go."

It was harder than she dreamt it would be, Arya thought as she looked down on the body of Beric Dondarrion, who had sacrificed himself for her. If anyone should be considered heroic, it should be him, and all of those who had stood in the way of death, not the girl who had lucked out with a quick bait and switch hand movement. It felt like the hardest thing, to take her torch to set the wooden kindling aflame, but some how she managed it. 

There remained only one thing to do before she ran the gauntlet of survivors once more on her way back to her bedroom. She had seen him over her left shoulder three rows behind, so she headed that way as soon as she could. Vaguely, she heard Clegane's gravelly voice warning her against doing anything that would make his little bird angry, whatever the hell that meant.

Stopping when necessary as she passed the surviving northern noblemen Arya felt bad for wishing their admiration had remained on her beautiful sister, when one after another, they offered flowery felicitations that grated on her... Well maybe not that bad, she thought, as she stared past them to the only man who hadn't all of a sudden, miraculously discovered her worth in the last twenty four hours. Her breath actually caught, when she found her regard returned; those warm blue eyes of his savoring the sight of her. Thankful to be in company of the most uncouth man in all of the seven kingdoms, she lightly touched Clegane's arm, who got the message, and unceremoniously whisked her away from the "fucking namby-pambies," as he referred to the unimpressive lot of them as they left.

Finally, some ten steps later, she was where she wished to be.

After just staring at her for an indeterminable length of time, as if to assure himself that she was really okay, Gendry bowed his head to her; a mark of respect and also, she would like to think, of his devotion.

Either way her heart sped up when he did.

And then, with his head still down, he adressed her.

"My Lady."

Fuck, Arya thought, she wasn't supposed to start crying. But she did just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …. I will pick right up from the minute her tears fall in the next update with Gendry's POV


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When man's best friend has a girl's happiness in mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sandor Clegane and Arya....need I say anymore about how cool these two are. I loved their scenes in the show, so of course we needed a taste of here in this story … hope you enjoy it.

~GENDRY~

It was no coincidence that the handful of times Gendry wished he had been acknowldeged by man who sired him were related to Arya Stark; none more so than this exact moment. Had he been recognized by his father, then, when he raised his head to mark the silent weeping of the most incredible person he had ever known there would have been no impediment preventing him from reaching out to sweep away every last tear from her cheeks and then enfolding Lady Arya Stark in his arms. Not a single person here would dare question the actions of the legitimate son of a king, deceased or not. However, as a lowborn bastard blacksmith, particularly one who had recently been on the receiving end of a rather strong suggestion that he keep his distance from the lady in question, giving in to his baser instincts were out of the question. Conversely, it wasn't any potential threat to his person that precipitated his decision, rather the idea that her reputation could be sullied, that made up his mind. And so, when he found the urge to comfort her reaching an overwhelming point, he forced himself to take a step backwards, brooking a more respectful distance between the two of them while they were in the presence of those who would adjudge his attention as unseemly.

The Bringer of the Dawn, it would appear, had her own opinions about what was permissible between them.

"Seven Hells, Girl, have you no sense?"

Gendry vacantly heard the Hound growl a warning when Arya stepped into the spot he had just quit, eliminating the gap between them, and placed her hand on his chest, directly over his heart. He may have heard additional complaints from the knight had he not felt branded by the touch that effectively erased everyone and everything from his consciousness save her. Only Arya. Held captive by the grey eyes that had taken on the look of molten steel, his mouth gaped open as he expelled a lone breath into the cold air. He watched with wonderment as she inhaled just then, purposively matching her breath to his. Exhale to inhale; inhale to exhale. She repeated it: breath for breath, again and again, and he was lost. He didn't know how long they stood there, but sense somehow prevailed , prompting him to speak. "My Lady," he breathed huskily, managing only that, before a single finger settled on his lips encouraging his silence. Naturally he obeyed. How could he not when her closeness had the ability to hold him and the world around him totally at bay. He simply watched as the diminutive female withdrew her hand long enough to remove something she had hidden in the folds of her cape, and handed it over to the Hound? "Arya, what are you doing," he thought to himself, seeking something in her eyes that would serve as an explanation for her daring.

With a soft smile, she simply swiped at her damp face with the back of her hand, and then gestured his attention to their unwitting companion who, by this time, had closed in on them in an effort to provide some measure of cover for his reckless charge's bold movements.

If it was possible for the disfigured warrior to become even more irked than he had been, it was accomplished when he unfurled the scroll he had been handed. He practically glowered as he studied it, before looking from Arya to him and then back to Arya in complete disbelief. Or perhaps it was disgust. Gendry wasn't exactly sure. "For fuck's sake," the intimidating man groused, waving the note practically in Arya's face. "Is this way of it then she-wolf? Of all...And you expect... really expect me to aid you with this? Right fucking here?"

Gendry hadn't a clue what was going on, but he didn't appreciate the tone the caustic man was taking with Arya, and stepped forward, opening his mouth to challenge him.

"Fuck off, you know you couldn't on your best day, Twat," the Hound grunted before his eyes touched on Arya, whose free hand, Gendry noted, now hovered over her Valyrian steel dagger. "But you could, couldn't you, " Sandor Clegane bitched before heaving a sigh of utter disgust at the pair. He unfurled the missive again and growled some more.

"Stupid Bull, my family does not speak for me. It is not my intention to cast my vow aside, and you would be a damn fool to even consider the same. Goodbyes are for weak boys, not the man I would have as mine." He then chucked the scrap of parchment on to it's intended recipient as if the written words were poison. "Learn to fucking read, Cunt, and keep me out of this shit."

Ignoring the warrior's complaints, Gendry held the paper fast. As far as declarations go, it's delivery was definitely missing the dulcet nuances a man would wish for, but they were Arya's words; words means specifically for him, and that was all that mattered. Well, that and the fact that she stood here before him, and if not completely hale, was at least on the mend after her ordeal. "Arya,"

"Shut your fucking trap, Twat and get that look off your face, if you don't want to find yourself on the closest pyre," the Hound abruptly voiced, offering just enough of a warning before they were approached.

"Sister, you are still here? I had hoped you would have returned to your chamber by now."

Coming face-to-face with the Lady of Winterfell, Gendry was under no presumption that her greeting was no less than a warning to her sister, who had stiffened slightly when Sansa had spoken up. Nor did he misinterpret the look of disdain the statuesque beauty met him with.  
"Lady Stark," he offered with a stiff bow.

A slight nod was all he would get back, before Sansa Stark looped her arm in her sister's. "Come Arya, you should rest." They took a few steps before Sansa realized they were one person short. "Sandor?"

"After a brief word with the smith, Little Bird."

The noblewoman aquiesed to his request, and dragged a clearly furious Arya away, chastising her about promises broken or the like. Gendry's jaw tightened , first over Sansa's Stark's arrogance and then in anticipation of the confrontation he would have now with Arya's pseudo-protector.

"What!" he demanded preemptively, wondering how far the warning on behalf of his 'Little Bird' would extend this time.

"One hour," the Hound replied. "Come up with a reasonable excuse that will bring you to the keep. Better yet an excuse that would give you entrance to the she-wolf's chambers. I'll take care of the rest."

"Wh-what, why?"

The cantankerous warrior cuffed him upside his head. "Get your thoughts from what's between the little wolf-bitch's legs for a second, and think about it cunt."

"I'm not thinking...i mean."

"Right, we all saw it, boy, the Little Bird as well. Fucking bodies still burning all around us and all you can think about is diving head first into that...One hour's time, take it or leave it, boy."

"Why are you doing this. You don't even..."  
"Like you. Aye you have that fucking right, you cunt," Sandor interrupted. "But she does, and that's all that matters."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya has basically had enough....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops this is a late update...life sure got in the way...

~ARYA~

Even if it she had been physically capable, it wouldn't have made sense to complain, so mid-way through her sister's latest lecture, Arya purposively relaxed and decided to just calmly allow her sister to escort her the rest of the way back to her chamber. The fact she would unnerve her companion in the process was a small reward to savor, and the tiniest of grins came to her face. She knew Sansa had registered exactly when she released the tension from her body, as the taller woman had looked down warily, immediately suspicious of the benign expression that had replaced the extreme displeasure her sister hadn't bothered to hide moments ago. 

"Arya," she began, gripping the arm she held tighter, expecting the worst, and attempting once more to justify her position. "I'm sure that he's a good man..."

Arya stared straight ahead, determined to block her sister out.

"Lady Sansa!"

The auburn haired woman quit talking and turned, taking Arya with her as she acknowledged the man who had addressed her. Genially, her lips upturned slightly;; the welcoming look that came to her face a far contrast to anything she had offered her own kin.

Arya clenched her jaw.

"Lord Tyrion."

 The man nodded when he came to stand before them. " _My Lady_... Lady Arya."

Arya  followed her sister's lead and nodded all the while watching the unspoken interaction  happening between Sansa and Tyrion Lannister when both fell silent. Observing Tyrion Lannister, Arya wondered if the man had approached them for another reason than out of curtesy.  His warm gaze on her sister, certainly suggested such, not to mention that his address of his former wife clearly carried an intimate undertone that had definitely not been there in the days before the battle. Her sister, for her part, was the most in tune with a man than Arya had witnessed since she had returned to Winterfell. That it would be him : the youngest of the dreaded Lannister family, their sworn enemies, that Sansa would share a rapport with, was total bullshit in Arya's way of thinking, and what restraint she had shown, fled her immediately.

_"Hypocrite."_

Tyrion Lannister paused offering his condolences to Sansa, specifically on the loss of Theon, when the low grating comment reached his ears.

"I beg your pardon," he began before realizing that the stormy grey eyes of the speaker were not, as he believed focused on him, but on the flushed face of the Lady of Winterfell.

"After everything you are still the same sanctimonious princess who places value on people solely based on their standing in society. A man... " Arya rasped , "whose family actively participated in the decimation of ours is worth your regard; the boy who betrayed the same family that raised him to manhood, you worship in death all because of the noble names attached to them."

"You don't know what you are talking about, Arya, Theon fought for us..." 

"Aye, he did, and so did so many others. So did **he** Sansa. Not only that, but **he** ensured that all of us would have a fighting chance by arming as many of us as possible. Do you think I would have survived the night if not for the weapon he fashioned for me? I know I would not have. The dagger I gave you for protection:  **he** made it. And yet you still can look upon him as you would dirt on the hem of you favorite gown. Do you even know the name of the man you have chosen to show such disdain for, Sansa? Do you even care to know the story of a man who would work to assure our very survival? No, you don't because he is not highborn enough for you dear sister, for it to matter to you. And you cannot possibly know how much that sickens me!" 

Arya suddenly gasped when the vehemence of her outburst manifested in a paroxysm of uncontrollable coughing. She raised a sleeve to her mouth when the tell-tale metallic taste filled her mouth, and the pain in her chest had her feeling more ill than she had all day, but she still yanked away from her sisters concerned reach. Her eyes smarted with tears and a wave of nausea hit her hard, but she still stumbled away from her sister determined to make it back to her chamber before she made even more of a scene than she already had.

Thankfully, just when she felt about to give in to the overwhelming queasiness, familiar rough hands lifted her off her feet and hurried her towards her bedroom. "Take deep breaths girl, it will help," The Hound grunted as he carried the slight form in his arms. "Don't make me regret what I've done by throwing up all over me," he added mysteriously.

His long strides got Arya to her room well ahead of her sister and the Hand of the Dragon Queen who had followed them, their concern for her wellbeing overriding the rage she had expressed. The scarred man handed her a vessel of water, which she first used to rinse out her mouth, and then took a sip of.  "Thank you," she whispered before willingly climbing into her bed. His voice reached her as she turned to face the wall, unwilling to face her sister for the time being.

"Try to look at things from her perspective. Every man she has known has brought her nothing but trouble, but is was a bastard who did the worst to her. Of course she will do everything to protect you from a similar fate...even if she is completely wrong in this case."

Arya turned over to look at the man, disbelieving that he would speak in Gendry's favour.

She looked past the warrior, as Sansa and Tyrion Lannister entered.

"Arya, I've summoned the master," Sansa offered cautiously to her bedridden sister. She watched Arya nod and then took a seat in one of the room's chairs.

Both women watched curiously when Lord Tyrian took a seat as well.

"Perhaps I can entertain you with a story while we wait," the diminutive man offered. "Gendry Waters," he announced  "A strong lad; he is, but one would expect that of a blacksmith. Did either of you know that the day we met he saved my life from a couple of gold-cloaks? I would have been a goner for sure if not for him and that hammer of his."

 

 


End file.
